


Waste of Breath

by meaninglessblah



Series: DC Kinkmeme Fills [5]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Breathplay, Coming In Pants, Community: dckinkmeme, F/M, Femdom, Frottage, Hate Sex, Stalking, Strength Kink, Threats, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Slade pushes a bit too far and Kori chokes him out. He likes it more than either of them expects.
Relationships: Koriand'r/Slade Wilson
Series: DC Kinkmeme Fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906351
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Waste of Breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeeskeit_ceirtlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeeskeit_ceirtlin/gifts).



> **This is a fill for the[DC Kinkmeme](https://dckinkmeme.dreamwidth.org).**

She lacks the element of surprise. He lacks the arsenal to hold off a raging Tamaranean princess. 

It’s not a fair fight, not for either of them. From the moment she flings herself through the ceiling-to-floor glass windows of the mercenary’s apartment, through the barrage of cursory fire that litters from the pistol in his palm, there’s nothing fair about the way Kori tosses the serum-enhanced meta across the room like he’s nothing more than an orange-and-black ragdoll. 

Slade walks it off, as she’d expected, without even a wince to show for it. He’s trained, but so is she, and more importantly, she’s _pissed._

Which is why Kori makes a point of dropping him to his hands and knees as many times as is reasonable throughout their fight, just to drive the point home. Kicks out his knee just to enjoy the grunt he gives her, the snarl of bared teeth as he blocks and counteracts each increasingly furious blow. 

“Grayson got my last gift then, I take it?” Slade interprets with a flash of smug teeth. 

Kori sees red for a moment, clamps down on the fire brewing in her veins, aching to be _unleashed._ “It was most unwelcome,” she snaps back, and launches forward through his block until she can grapple him. 

It’s exhilarating, the brief fight stoking the overhot pit of fury in her gut as she counters each jab and returns enough of her own that she can get in under his parry. Time is crucial, but not strength, so Kori withholds none when her fingers clamp down around his bared throat. 

Shoves him a few inches up the plaster just so she can enjoy the way his toes scrape for purchase on the floor. 

Which earns her an interesting reaction. Somewhere between that pulse slamming back against where her thumb digs into his tendon, and those eyelashes fluttering over that pale blue eye, a guttural, relieved _sigh_ eases from Deathstroke’s constricted throat. 

Kori pauses. 

It’s enough hesitation to grant him a fleeting upperhand, but it’s a canyon of opportunity for trained vigilantes like them. A boot slams into her stomach, driving the breath from her and weakening her grip enough for Slade to wrench it sideways and slip out from under it. To hit the floor gasping on his knees and cast about for a usable weapon. 

Kori grits her teeth and advances, kicking the sword beyond his reach and then kneeing him in the nose for the effort. It’s met with a snap of cartilage, and Slade wheeling back up to his feet with a grimace. Kori’s grip flashes out to take ahold of that unprotected throat again, a solitary point of weakness amidst the nauseating orange, and _slams_ him back against the plaster before he’s fully recovered. Neutralises whatever threat Slade fancies himself to be. 

She gets that same reaction again, married with the barest shudder as Slade settles into her hold, palms wrapping up around her wrist. It barely surprises her when he doesn’t immediately throw her off this time, but Kori takes the boon for what it is. 

“You will _cease_ hounding Richard,” Kori demands, gaze flashing where she looms over the pinned mercenary. 

“Bit of an overreaction,” Slade wheezes back, features pulled into smug malice. 

“You are overstepping, Deathstroke,” Kori snarls. “The incessant attention was loathsome enough. This is too far.” 

“Clearly you don’t approve of Graves.” 

Kori constricts her grip, choking off that breathy laughter into a satisfying choke. Enjoys watching his jaw flex around the sensation, his palms clamping down ineffectually on her wrist. “Unsolicited poems left on bathroom mirrors are _well beyond_ a simple invasion of privacy, Deathstroke. You will _not_ approach Richard again.” 

“Possessive,” Slade goads around a grin that has Kori seeing jets of green light. 

She grinds her teeth and shoves upwards, again, until there’s next to no weight left for his booted toes to take. Slade grunts and twitches against the plaster, head lolling above her grip as that blue eye flickers. 

“ _Apologize,_ ” Kori demands. 

His mouth gapes, gaze darkening with oxygen deprivation as his jaw slips open on a, “ _Yes._ ” 

Kori slackens, but doesn’t pull back, stunned as Slade drags in a wheezing breath and centres himself, toes finding relieved purchase on the tile beneath them. “What was that?” 

“I said you’re awfully _possessive_ for a-” 

“No,” Kori contradicts. “You said ‘yes’.” 

Slade gives her an odd expression then, something that would be embarrassment on any other features but his own. And then he shifts, just the barest inch, hips and belt scraping across the plaster. _Uncomfortable._

“You’re enjoying this,” she realises, and is surprised to find the thought amuses her. The idea of the invincible mercenary Deathstroke, brought to heel beneath a tight hand and a firm word. Who would have known? 

“Hardly,” Slade snarls, but the bravado is undermined by the blush that blooms across his cheekbones. 

Kori’s smile is pursed and smug. “Are you not?” she asks, perhaps more coy than is warranted, and shifts her grip until she can stroke the pulse thundering at the side of his neck. Breaks into a full, lethal smile when Slade shudders at the touch. 

His brows knit into a scowl. “No.” 

“I think you are,” Kori accuses gently, and revels in watching him mentally scramble for an excuse. Enjoys watching it all fall to the wayside when she presses down to smother that pulse with just the _barest_ shift. 

The groan that rips up his throat startles them both, but it’s all the confirmation Kori was hoping for. 

Kori closes the distance between them in a single stride, ensuring she keeps Slade firmly pinned as she steps into his personal space. Consumes it, until all of his awareness must be screaming with the proximity. That blue eye doesn’t part from her, focused, but it does lose the last of its smugness. 

“Big bad Deathstroke,” she purrs, and kicks one of his ankles out, counteracting the shift in balance by yanking him sideways. He chokes and twists beneath her grip, grunting when he comes up sharply against the thigh she presses between his. Adjusts her hold to bring him back onto his toes, until he’s squirming on her leg, barely settled. “Brought to heel over a little rough play.” 

The contempt in her tone doesn’t alleviate, but it does take on an amused drawl when Slade gives her a thin whine for the effort. 

“Of course you’d like it hard,” she sneers. “Just begging for someone to throw you around.” 

His mouth opens, a syllable rising on his tongue that she cuts off with a sharp nudge of her knuckles into the soft skin of his jaw. 

“Be _quiet,_ I’m talking.” 

That gloved grip flexes around her wrist, testing her resolve as Kori grinds her leg harder up into the junction of his groin. Slade groans at the pressure, lashes fluttering as he tilts his head back into the plaster, and it’s almost amusing, seeing how easily affected the man is. 

And a blessing, not to hear that husky timbre grating in her ears. 

“I think I like you like this,” she admits, palming the man’s windpipe as she modulates the pressure against his arteries. _Threatening_ to suffocate the man, even if they both know she could never bring herself to cross that boundary. “Quiet. Docile. _Much_ more tolerable.” 

It still makes a flush rise into the mercenary’s cheeks, pooling beneath that glazed look that’s beginning to settle in his solitary eye. Kori watches, curious, as his head lolls, jaw slipping open as consciousness begins to leave him. 

The scathing lungful of air he draws in when Kori relaxes her grip is reaffirmed by the tightening of his grip on her arm, the flash of challenge returning to that gaze, and Kori can’t help but laugh. 

“You think this is some sort of game? You think I’m here to _play_ with you, Slade?” Nails bite into pale skin, drawing bright lines as Slade chokes and shifts and, just maybe, whimpers. Kori makes sure she pitches her volume just above a murmur, forces him to strain every one of those serum-enhanced muscles when she says, “What gave you the impression that I was playing?” 

When she cuts off his air this time, he jolts at the sharp constriction, grinding down onto her bare thigh, toes slipping on the tile as he tries to gain any sort of leverage. Kori just bears down and waits. 

This time, when his jaw falls open and saliva dribbles out of his slack mouth, Kori pauses to watch a string of spit pool on his chest plate before she grants him a reprieve. The depth of his inhale makes her lungs ache, makes her arm shudder with the twitch he gives her. 

When she can see he’s beginning to collect his faculties again, Kori palms his pulse. 

“I would kill you,” she muses softly, and is aware that Slade’s hanging off her every word, “for all the trouble you cause Dick. I would do anything to make him happy. Except, if you were dead, I wouldn’t be able to see you like _this._ ” 

“Please,” Slade wheezes, less a plea and more a goad, eyes rolling ever-so-slightly back into his skull. 

“Prove to me you deserve your life,” Kori says coldly. 

“Princess-” 

“ _Silence._ ” He twitches at the command, every muscle jumping to attention for her. “I said _prove_ you deserve to keep your life. Make it worth my while. Make it worth the trouble you’ve caused.” 

“What-” he gasps, and blinks back stars. Gathers his strung-together thoughts and tries again. Kori watches it all with a thin sheen of amusement. “What do you want?” 

Kori shifts her weight, toying with her options. This was certainly not how she expected this negotiation to go, but she doesn’t mind the hand she’s been dealt. From the hardness that presses back against her thigh, Slade doesn’t have any complaints either. 

“I think,” she hedges, and nudges her knee up between his legs, making sure Slade can feel the friction, rue the drag, the deprivation. Flashes a blinding smile when he cants down nonetheless, chasing the sensation as his muscles begin to tremble in the position. “I think I want you to apologize, Deathstroke. For bothering Dick.” 

“ _And,_ ” Kori adds, when that mouth opens, that blue eye fixed on her like a sun, “if I think it’s sincere, I think I want to see you debase yourself for me. Let’s see what the renowned mercenary Deathstroke looks like rutting for his release.” 

Slade gives her a dirty look for that, swallowing hard against the junction of her thumb and forefinger where they bracket his windpipe. She watches his jaw flex, watches him chew through the words as she strokes a fingerprint over that rabbiting, full heartbeat. 

When he goes to speak, she closes around the sound, revelling in the way hesitation touches his gaze for a moment before she concedes. 

“Choose your words wisely,” she recommends. 

“I apologize,” he murmurs, and bites back a shudder when Kori hums and teases that pulseline. “For any discomfort I caused Grayson. It won’t happen again.” 

Kori smirks. “I’m sure it won’t.” 

Slade whines softly, the sound high and thin as he drags down a rattling breath. Grinds down the barest inch on her thigh, as if afraid to draw her attention to his desperation. 

She waits him out, waits for him to swallow again and encroach, “Princess…” 

“Yes, Slade?” Kori asks, and nearly laughs at the scowl he gives her. Adjusts her grip and leans her weight into that knee. “I thought I said I wanted to see you debase yourself. Something to make the lesson _stick._ ” 

Slade groans, hands tightening around her wrist for the barest flicker of a moment before they unravel. She watches patiently as they fall back to his sides, splaying out on the plaster at his hips as he tilts his chin up and bares that fragile throat. 

Kori smiles and reaffirms her grip, enjoying the way his lashes flutter at the pressure. He takes a moment to savour the sensation before he drags his hips down the length of her thigh, trembling bodily. 

She lets him, studying the pinch of his brow, the way it slackens whenever she closes her hand. It’s barely any effort to hold him there, shuddering up the length of her thigh as he humiliates himself for her pleasure. As he flushes and squirms beneath her unshakeable, heated gaze. 

Kori holds him steady, nails digging into that thundering pulse until she feels his hips start to stutter, his coordination failing as those eyelids flutter. Gives him a chance to catch his breath before she starts the process again. 

He puts on one hell of a show, thighs shaking around her leg, toes scraping tile. His hands curl into fists when it all becomes too much, and Kori takes a step forward to take the responsibility from him. Cracks his head back against the plaster to cut off the yelp of surprise into a sharp grunt, and grinds her knee up against his hardness, revelling in the groans that spill from his pressed-shut mouth as he shudders and comes. 

She relinquishes him to slump to the tile when he’s done shaking, taking satisfaction from the way he folds to his knees and fumbles to catch himself on his palms. Takes a step back and smooths down her skirt as he drags in shaky, affected breaths beneath her. 

“See that you don’t forget this lesson too soon,” Kori instructs, and turns before the mercenary can gather himself enough to reply. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


End file.
